


To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer

by thursdayknight



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Asexual Steve Harrington, Christmas, Happy Ending, I don't know if this is counts as fluff or not, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents, Steve hates Christmas, and he's Grumpy about it, but in the usual way where Billy's not dead so it's really only canon-ish, the end definitely is at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-18
Updated: 2019-12-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 06:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21840118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thursdayknight/pseuds/thursdayknight
Summary: Steve really, really hates Christmas and Billy decides to do something about it by leaving him presents on his doorstep marked "To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer".
Relationships: Steve Harrington/Billy Hargrove
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89
Collections: Harringrove Holiday Exchange 2019, Stranger Things ace fic collection





	To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [harringrovecryptid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/harringrovecryptid/gifts).



> So the prompt was: I'm a sucker for Steve not thinking anyone cares about him (and maybe having some legitimate evidence to back that up), and Billy making him feel genuinely supported, wanted, and loved. When it comes to sex scenes I'm not into fisting or piss kinks or stuff like that. Aside from that I'm pretty much good with anything."
> 
> This doesn't have any sex in it, but hopefully it's is a good fit! Merry Christmas!

"If I see one more freaking candy cane, I'm going to freaking lose it!" Steve shouts as he brushes through the doors of Family Video, snow in his hair and a scowl on his face.

Steve hates christmas, Robin has noticed, and more than just hates Christmas, it's like it's turning him into a different person. He's like a ticking time bomb, like with every day closer to Christmas day he gets a little more bitter, a little darker, a little more wounded and nothing she's tried to do so far has helped; she's even tried to get the kids to cheer him up, but that hasn't helped, either. Today is pretty much her last ditch effort, she's got Lucas with her and he's brought… she looks over at the box of candy Lucas brought in with him and it's... red and white striped candy canes. 

_Shit._

Lucas makes a move to shove the box off of the counter before Steve can see it but it's too late, his eyes find it like the box has a target on it and his eyes are laser focused. The whole thing makes the scowl on Steve's face sink in like it might just never leave, like this is just who Steve _is_ now and Robin doesn't get it, she's seen Steve face down monsters, like actual freaking _monsters_ and still crack jokes but ever since the calendar rolled over into December he just… 

"Whatever," Steve growls as he stalks past them, grabbing the box of candy canes off the counter as he passes by like his intent is to crush them.

She watches Lucas flinch as there's a loud crash in the back room that sounds suspiciously like Steve throwing the candy canes in the garbage from across the room.

///

After work, Steve heads right home and crawls into the shower almost immediately, hoping to wash the grossness of the day off of him but instead winds up scowling at the candy apple scented shampoo his mom secretly swapped out his normal shampoo for. 

Like shit like that is going to - has ever - made up for the way they always miss Christmas and always with some flimsy excuse of, "Oh, sorry, buddy, there was just this party we couldn't miss out on, you know, work never stops, always have to be here meeting new people," or, "Sorry, sweetie, we tried, we really did, there just aren't any flights out of Chicago with any seats left before the new year," even though there absolutely are, there always are and Steve knows there are because he's called and checked himself a few times. A few years. In a row. 

But worse than that is that he only notices it's different shampoo, only stares and scowls at it after he smells it, after he's scrubbed it all in and got a good lather going, like only then, _only then_ does he catch the ridiculous, completely over the top fake candy apple scent, like _only then_ does he see that it's not his usual gray shampoo bottle with the swirling white font all over it but a christmas-y red one with snowflakes and apples and a smiling snowman on the front.

He throws the bottle over the edge of the shower and does his best to wash it all out, groaning loudly enough the entire time that if his parents were actually home right now his mom would be knocking gently on his door, asking, "What's wrong, sweetie?" even as his father would be saying, "Oh, leave the boy alone, Charlotte, he's old enough to handle his own problems." 

But no matter how hard he scrubs it doesn't help, the fake candy apple scent _lingers_ and he winds up storming out of the bathroom wanting to scream. The house is empty, so he does, but it doesn't help any. 

But then, then, _even worse than that_ , is the way Billy practically buries his face in Steve's hair as they're making out later that night, moaning about, "You smell _so good_ ," and, "What did you put in this? Seriously, you _smell good enough to eat._ "

They've been doing this thing, whatever it is, for a few months now and mostly they just make out and watch movies, but the way Billy's acting, like Steve's hair is a goddamn buffet and he's starving, like they've never done this before, it makes Steve's skin crawl, makes him feel like the twelve different santas placed about the living room are all staring at him, makes the room feel like it's spinning so Steve kicks Billy out and just goes to bed early, giving up on the day in its entirety, on the day as a whole.

///

This year, Steve has decided, he's going to spend as much of December as he possibly can in his bedroom. 

Because every year his mom decorates the house on the first like she plans to stay, every single year and it used to get him excited, he used to love it - the cinnamon scented candles lit up and glowing in the hall, the big (fake, but still) beautiful christmas tree taking up the entire front window, all of their color coordinated, expensive, store-bought ornaments hanging just so from the tree and the big, green (and also fake) wreath on the front door with the red bow and the red berries - it all used to excite him so much and he used to be such an idiot about it.

Every year on the first his mom would bring everything up from the basement and get him to help her decorate and they'd sing along to the same goofy songs as the year before and sometimes they'd even bake cookies, big, gooey chocolate chip ones, usually, but then every year around the fifteenth his parents would pack up and leave, saying it was, "Just for a couple of days, pumpkin, don't you worry," and he always believed them, always. And then always, _always,_ he'd get a call around the twenty-third or twenty-fourth saying that they couldn't possibly make it home and to please have a good Christmas without them. "You'll have just the best Christmas, I know it," is something his mom says almost every year and never, has it ever been true.

Back when he was younger, about nine or ten it wasn't so bad, back then at least he had nannies or little old lady babysitters to spend the day with, but the past five years, ever since he was fifteen and declared "a man" by his father, they've been leaving him alone, completely alone and he needs to, like he really, really _needs_ _to_ work on saving up money and getting a place of his own, on getting out of here because while living here isn't so bad most of the time, like for the rest of the year he can mostly just ignore how big and empty the place is, every year December rolls around and he can't take it. He just can't take it.

Every year December rolls around and his mom starts putting out the decorations, decorations she doesn't even ask him to help with anymore, and it… 

It just makes him mad. No, worse than that, the whole thing makes him furious, just furious and _mean_ ; he _knows_ it does. 

He _knows_ he was a _dick_ yesterday with Lucas. Knows he was a dick when it was Dustin a few days before that, and the same thing goes for when it was Max, not that she acted like she cared 'cause that girl has a skin tougher than almost anybody he's ever met but -

He's been out dicking Billy even, and that's… 

Yeah, that's not good. 

Not that he has any idea how to fix it, of course. He'd hide away in his room all month, be a hermit to the degree that he only comes out for food, water, and to go to the bathroom and just stare out the window until this whole stupid month is over, but... he can't. He has to pay rent here now, or as his mom calls it, "Room and board," while his dad calls it, "Nobody rides for free, son," and it might not be a whole lot of money, comparatively, like considering how much rent usually costs, but...

Still. It _costs_ and that means he has to work. And that, like all of that?

It makes Steve hate his life. Like really hate his life.

Because his life fucking sucks.

///

Then, the next morning there's a perfectly wrapped little present all done up in shiny, red paper with edges folded neatly enough that his mom would be proud of it and it's just sitting on Steve's front step and for a long time he just… stares at it, eyes it warily and then pokes at it with the toe of his shoe. He wants to just leave it there, hoping one of the neighbourhood dogs will come along and tear it to pieces but there's a tag on the top and his curiosity gets the better of him so he stoops down to pick it up and carries it with him to his car. 

Once he's sitting in the driver's seat and has his gloves off and the heater on, he looks at the tag. It says: _To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer_ in this sharp, scraggly handwriting that is completely at odds with the neatness of the wrapping and that he feels like maybe he should recognize, but he doesn't. But then he shrugs and grunts and throws the present over his shoulder and into the back seat of the car, fully planning on never thinking of it again.

Except...

Except for that he spends the whole drive to work doing nothing _but_ thinking about it and only makes it halfway across the parking lot once he gets there before he's doubling back and diving across the back seat to grab the present and drag it inside with him.

Robin notices the present the second he steps foot inside and gives him the sharpest of eyebrow raises for it. "Don't think coming in here and bringing me a present is going to absolve you of anything, Steven," she says, her voice somehow even sharper than her raised eyebrow, if such a thing is even possible. 

"Okay… So does that comment mean that this isn't from you then? 'Cause I found it outside this morning and there's no name on it but mine," Steve says as he shrugs out of his big, fat, ugly winter coat. 

Robin laughs, a sound that's caught halfway between kind and bitter. "Well, it definitely isn't from me," she says as she breezes past him to grab the old, red broom from its spot by the front door. She starts sweeping up aggressively, like she's mad at the floor rather than him. "I officially gave up on trying to cheer you up after you practically made Lucas' cry yesterday." 

Steve feels his face fall and feels shame blooming instantaneously in his gut, feels it start expanding, start crawling up his ribs, feels it gunning for his throat. "Shit, did I really?" He really hopes he didn't 'cause Dustin or Will crying, that wouldn't take too much but making Lucas cry?

If he's made _Lucas_ cry then he's a _much_ bigger fuck up than he thought.

Robin, though, she just looks up from her quest to sweep the floor into oblivion and glares at him. "No, idiot, not _literally_ , but he was still _really_ upset," and she doesn't have to say, _and so was I,_ for him to get it. 

Because he _was_ a much bigger fuck up than he thought. 

He _is._

"I'm sorry, Rob, I've been a complete dick, I just…" He waves his hand in a vague circle, making the present click ominously as whatever is inside the little box shuffles around. 

"Hate Christmas more than Scrooge?" She rolls her eyes towards the ceiling, maybe towards Heaven itself because maybe she's started needing to legitimately pray for him now. He wouldn't blame her if she did, someone probably _should_ be praying for him at this point but then she sighs, refocuses her gaze on him and says, "I'll forgive you if you let me see what's in that box," in a way that clearly means all is forgiven and that has Steve folding his jacket over his arm and trying to give her a suspicious look. Mostly though, he just winds up smiling at her. 

"And maybe giving you what's inside?" he says, not able to keep that smile from tripping into his words as she leans on the broom and smiles, making him feel the lightest he's felt in _days_ , in _weeks_ , maybe.

"See?" she says. "This is why we're friends. Because you know me so well." 

Steve does an eye roll of his own before heading to the back to drop off his coat then turning right back around again once he does. All of his attention is focused on the little box in his hands the entire time both ways, which is an aggravatingly big change from his original feeling of, "Yeah, whatever this is, I don't care," because no, actually. He cares. He cares a _lot._ Like he cares _too much._

He cares _so much_ in fact that he doesn't even notice there's anybody else in the store until he hears Robin saying, "Oh, look who it is, _the devil himself_ ," making Steve look up to find Robin glaring at Billy, of all people, and Billy is watching Steve, grinning like the cat that ate the canary in a way that has the hairs on the back of Steve's neck prickling unpleasantly. 

"What's that you got there, Harrington?" Billy asks, grin growing even wider in a way that turns something in Steve's stomach sour, sour and brittle and sharp all at the same time.

"I do have a first name, you know," Steve huffs as he slips behind the counter to take his place next to Robin. 

"Alright, _Steve,_ what's that you got there?" Billy asks, voice as sweet as honey while his face speaks volumes and none of them remotely sweet, none of them remotely pleasant and all of them doing things to Steve he can't ever mention in public even if the only other person near them right now is Robin, so it barely counts as _public_ at all.

"This?" Steve says, holding up the little red-wrapped box. "No idea, it just showed up on my doorstep this morning with my name on it."

Something devious glints in Billy's eyes as he says, "Well, aren't you going to open it?" sounding _way_ too invested in this for his own good - or Steve's, for that matter.

Next to him, Robin shifts, folding her arms across her chest and cocking a hip out. "He was just about to, actually," she says all bite but still soft in that way Steve's only ever seen her manage to do.

And Steve pauses, caught in the floodlight of the look Billy keeps giving him, feels caught out, exposed, so _of course_ Billy just makes it worse by going, "Well, go on, then." 

It startles something in Steve, something that starts to burn, starts to _ache,_ like he needs to prove himself somehow, even though the stakes couldn't possibly be any lower right now. Like they're on the floor, like this is a bar Steve can step over by just barely raising his foot and yet -

And yet -

Billy's giving him this challenging look and it's ridiculous, really, so Steve decides to be a little _ridiculous_ back, tearing into the wrapping with his teeth, making something in Billy's eyes _burn,_ like there's no one else in the whole world right now, just the two of them, even though this thing Steve's doing involves ripping open a present that's _undoubtedly_ from someone else so - 

"Steve! We have scissors for that! Don't be gross!" Robin shouts, shattering the moment and making Steve _violently_ aware of every single part of his body, including the one very much reacting to that _look_ Billy was giving him and even the way Billy's laughing at him now. 

Steve presses himself to the edge of the counter, trying to hide himself even as Robin is giving him a thorough once over as she hands him scissors, like he still needs those, like his teeth didn't do the majority of the work already.

He takes them anyway, even though he just winds up ripping the rest of the tape and paper off with his hands to uncover a little white box, almost like the kind of thing you'd find earrings sold in, but not quite. Steve lifts the top of the box off to reveal a cassette tape with that same scraggly handwriting printed on it, stating: _Mixtape for the musical edification of one Steve Harrington._

He has no idea what "edification" means but he watches as Robin peers into the box, sees the tape and wrinkles her nose before deciding, "You can keep that, the person who sent it might have terrible taste," and wandering off, leaving Steve alone with Billy and the tape. 

"Well?" Billy asks, again, just as weirdly invested as before.

"Well, what?" Steve's still looking down at the box, at the tape. He picks it up to find there's a piece of paper under it with a track listing written carefully onto it. 

He smiles.

No one's ever made him a mixtape before. 

"Well, do you like the tape or not?" Billy practically snarls, impatient for reasons Steve doesn't want to take the time to break apart just right now. 

It's still not enough to make Steve take his eyes from the tape, even though Billy clearly thinks it should be with the way he starts tapping his foot against the floor. "I love it. Somebody put effort into something for me, so I love it." His voice comes out all soft and gooey sounding, which is appropriate because he's feeling about eighteen different kinds of soft and gooey right now, so it might as well show in the way he looks and the way his voice sounds. 

Because somebody made him something. 

_Somebody_ made _him_ _something_. 

"Huh," Billy says, and that one word is enough to snap up Steve's attention, that one word sounds like it's got knife blades buried an inch deep into it, but then when Steve looks up, Billy's smiling like the sun is inside him and that has Steve feeling completely, utterly confused. Like he's definitely missing something here he just doesn't know what.

"What?" Steve can't help but ask. 

"Nothing," Billy says with a head shake so easy it must be practiced (and Steve isn't going to get hung up on _why_ Billy might need to have such a perfectly practiced nonchalant, _I didn't do nothin'_ headshake so readily available to him, no, sir, he's not, not at all). 

"Okay, well…" Steve drags the words out, trying to come up with something to say other than, "So either rent something or get out because the way you're staring at me right now is making me want to kiss you and we're in public and we can't," and failing miserably. 

Billy, though, he manages to read his mind or naybe just the look on his face - Steve knows he's easy to read and that seems to go double for Billy, for whatever reason - because in the next second Billy's saying, "I'm gonna get something. You want me to come over later?"

Steve nods and says, "Yeah," and pretends like he has any idea what tape Billy picks out, pretends like he does anything but watch Billy as he struts around the store.

He starts really, _really_ hoping that the tape is from Billy just as Billy's rounding the kids section and coming up towards the counter. Like it has to be him, right? 

Who else would it be from? Really? He doesn't exactly know a whole lot of people these days - Robin, a bunch of fourteen year olds and Billy are pretty much it, so process of elimination - 

It has to be Billy, right? It has to.

(And the fact that he really, really - almost desperately at this point, wants it to be Billy, even though he only just thought up the idea a minute ago, well that, of course that has nothing to do with it.)

But then Robin gives him this look that spells out exactly how hopeless she knows he is after Billy leaves, tape in hand, but he doesn't care.

It has to be Billy. It has to.

///

Later that night, after the longest shift he's ever endured in his life, after putting up with screaming toddlers roaming the aisles behind the backs of their inattentive and uninterested parents, after putting up with a straight hour of Keith eating chips and arguing with Robin about obscure… Italian horror directors or whatever the fuck they went on about as he had to run around the store cleaning up after the toddler from Hell, Steve is finally home. 

At his empty house. 

Covered in Christmas decorations. 

Alone. 

He groans and fights against his instincts to throw his head down onto his steering wheel and scream.

He loses.

Violently.

But then he picks himself up, wraps his big, fat, ugly coat around himself, gets out of the car and trudges along through the snow to the door, the cold biting at his face the entire time. He crunches forward and is about to step on the doormat when he notices, again, that there's something on it. This time it's a rose, a big, fat perfect one, like the kind you'd see in a fairytale book or on tv and it's got the same tag attached with the same message as last time: _To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer._

He bends down to grab it and winds up standing there for so long that when Billy calls out from behind him, "You got a girlfriend I don't know about or something, Harrington?" he jumps. Like actually, honest-to-god jumps.

He recovers quickly though, covering it up with, "No, now are you coming in or what?" and storming inside, making a big show of being as irritated as possible, which isn't actually that hard, considering the shitty sort of day he'd just had, the shitty sort of week, the shitty sort of _month._

But then they wind up making out on the couch as whatever movie Billy picked plays out on the television and aside from the fact that it's not a Christmas movie, Steve wouldn't be able to tell you a thing about it, not at all. Billy's hands, though?

Steve could probably spend an hour going on about how they went from freezing to burning, the way they trailed up under his shirt, shocking him at first with the sheer force of the cold just dripping out of them, but then the longer they spent pressed up against his sides, the warmer and warmer they got until eventually they were burning imprints of themselves into his skin, imprints he would swear he could still feel hours later, when he's in bed and Billy's gone home, when he's running his own hands up and down his sides, chasing even just the phantom of that sweltering, searing heat.

///

The next morning there's another present waiting for him. It's his day off, so this time when he goes outside it's literally just to check to see if there are any presents waiting for him, even if he tells himself it's to and grab the paper. 

But then there _is_ something outside waiting for him and he winds up fighting his face not to smile, even though there's nobody anywhere nearby, there's nobody to see, but he fights himself on it anyway, like he bites his bottom lip and everything. 

And still he loses, his face splitting wide open in the biggest of smiles as he creeps forwards, towards the big snowman planted directly in the middle of his lawn with a big blue scarf around its neck, a fat, ugly carrot nose that somehow just makes the whole thing look all the more endearing and to top it all off, it's got lumpy, misshapen rocks for eyes.

As usual, there's a tag attached to the gift, hanging just off the edge of the scarf, but this time it says: _To remind you of me_ on one side in addition to the usual, _To: Steve From: Your Secret Admirer_ on the front in that messy scrawl that he's not so secretly starting to love. And it has to be from Billy. At this point it just has to be, right? 

It's not too crazy a jump to make. Because Billy would totally buy him a scarf the same color as his own freaking eyes and then tell Steve to think of him as he wears it. 

But he _does_ wear it.

He wears it around all day, but unfortunately, he doesn't run into Billy, not once, not at all, not anywhere and he looks, like he actually _looks,_ okay, goes out for a long drive with his eyes peeled for the Camaro and everything. 

But nothing happens. There's no Billy and his few tiny scraps of something vaguely approaching Christmas cheer dissipate completely as the sun starts to set and it starts to sink in that all he's got to look forward to now is going home to a big old, empty, dark house alone to eat either whatever junk food he can scrounge up or to eat severely questionable three day old takeout leftovers from the diner downtown.

He winds up feasting on both the takeout leftovers, an entire bag of chips _and_ some of the cheap whiskey from his Dad's cabinet, some of the stuff his Dad never misses, before falling into a fitful sleep in front of the television somewhere around eleven.

Because Christmas is never not a misery.

///

The next day it gets worse when as Steve's walking around his room, brushing his teeth before work, he notices that his favorite photograph, the one of him and Dustin at the State Fair is missing. 

It's usually hanging out taped up on the wall above his desk, but now it's nowhere to be found. He looks behind the desk and it's not there. He gets down on his hands and knees and crawls in closer to double check behind the desk, his toothbrush stuck in his mouth, toothpaste dribbling out over his lower lip, but the picture still isn't there. 

He checks behind the bed, checks behind his nightstand, checks every inch of the floor on his hands and knees, but still, he can't find it and - 

He cranes up his neck, looks up at his clock - yeah, he's definitely going to be late if he keeps looking so, much as he doesn't want to, he gets to his feet and heads for the bathroom, makes himself as presentable as possible in what limited time he's got left and heads out.

There's another box with another note on his front step and he stoops to grab it before running to his car. 

This time he puts it on the front seat next to him and can't help but be excited, can't help but look forward to getting to work and getting to rip this box open and see what's inside, see what Billy - what his _secret admirer_ \- got for him this time.

Of course, when he gets to work that doesn't actually happen because of course today is Robin's day off and for some reason Keith has booked the two of them together like he just hasn't learned from last time what a terrible idea _that_ is. 

They spend the morning having sparse conversations or just straight up avoiding each other, and Steve counts down the minutes until his break, until he can go into the back room and tear open that present. 

Then when it's finally time the gift does not disappoint - it's cookies in this fancy red tin, which is great because he hasn't actually eaten anything yet today, what with the whole 'searching for that lost photo' thing and all.

He's just about to bite into a particularly tasty looking chocolate one when Keith comes stomping in and looks at him, then looks at the table with the tin of cookies and the wrapping paper shrapnel littering the table, then back up to him. 

"And where'd you get those, Steve?" Keith asks, suspicion (and jealousy, just _so much_ jealousy) dripping from his words so much so that they're almost heavy with it, like Steve can almost see the words hanging in the air like they're a physical, tangible _thing._

"Somebody gave them to me," Steve shoots back, hands quickly rushing out to wrap around the tin protectively. In his excitement to see what the gift was and then his excitement to eat something delicious, he'd totally forgotten how absolutely unsafe it is to have food open anywhere near Keith. 

Keith slides into the chair across the table from him, completely nonchalant and not seeming the least bit worried that the two of them both being back here at the same time means the front of the store is currently completely empty, which is something he'd yell at Steve or Robin for if either of them ever did this. Then he's raising a hand towards the cookies, like he doesn't even ask, just goes for it, and Steve has to physically bat his hand away. 

"What?" Keith says, mock hurt clearly covering for how upset he _actually is_ at being denied food. "Your _girlfriend_ give them to you or something?" Like that's the only reason a person could have for not wanting Keith's nasty hands in their food. 

"No," Steve barks out, probably more defensively than is absolutely necessary, but also, these are cookies from _Billy_ and they're _his,_ thank you very much.

"Whatever." Keith gets to his feet and pushes his chair back from the table, all interest in Steve and in this conversation completely having evaporated the second the promise of food dries up.

Steve spends the rest of his break happily munching on his cookies and ignoring everything else. 

///

Steve feels half happy and half annoyed as he's driving home from work later that afternoon. Half happy because of the cookies and how delicious they were and half sad because he'd forgotten to hide them after he was done with them and Keith had eaten the rest of them. Because Keith is an animal. 

Still, Steve's… well… happy really isn't quite the right word. He's still stuck in a huge house alone and sometimes that still makes him feel so lonely that he worries that loneliness might just carve itself into his bones and stay there forever but… but…

That feeling, that loneliness, that's been downgraded from something he feels every second of every day of this long, cursed, hellish month, to something he only feels occasionally, something he only feels some of the time. And that's, well, that's _something._

But even better than that?

Billy is waiting outside of his house when Steve pulls up and Billy's wearing a smile to outshine the sun as well as a big red bow on top of his head and is holding a framed photograph in his hands. Steve spills out of his car almost before he's fully killed the engine, almost before he's freaking parked at all and starts charging up the yard to meet Billy. 

When he sees that the photo inside the frame is the one he'd spent nearly half an hour looking for this morning though, one of his eyebrows starts climbing up his forehead and the words, "So you're the reason I was almost late for work this morning," come spilling out of his mouth before he can think them through. He'd wanted to say something nicer, something like, "I knew it was you," or, "I wanted it to be you," or even, "You look like such a dork with that bow on your head, come here," would have sufficed, but no. Instead, he said _that._

And Billy, he just shakes his head, looking confused but also… also impossibly fond at the same time. "What?" Billy says, almost laughing the word out more than actually saying it.

"This morning," Steve says, "I noticed my favorite picture, that one-" he points a long, accusing finger at the picture in question, "was missing, and I spent half an hour looking for it. I was almost late to work." 

Billy's tongue flicks out of his mouth to swipe over his bottom lip in that way it only ever does when he's either trying extra hard to be sexy or when he's been caught off guard and is trying to give himself time to catch up. This time, Steve thinks it's probably a little of both but either way it has him closing the distance between the two of them and wrapping his hands in the lapels of Billy's thick leather jacket, drawing him close. 

"Don't," Steve says, his face breaking into a huge smile, "Don't even say anything." 

Billy opens his mouth like he's going to anyway and Steve cuts him off with a kiss, an awkward one, to be sure, with the way Billy's mouth was partly open to start with, but Steve makes it work anyway, moves his hands up to wrap around the back of Billy's neck and pressing himself up as close to Billy as he can get with all of their winter clothes still on. It's not near close enough, but Steve knows that won't last for long. Steve knows this is only the warm-up act to what is sure to be a very, very long afternoon. And, if he's lucky, an even longer night.

"Knew it had to be you," he whispers in Billy's ear as they break the kiss, both panting, both drawing in big, gasping lungfuls of icy cold winter air.

"Yeah?" Billy asks playfully, pulling back just enough to look Steve in the eye. "And how'd you figure that out?" 

Steve rolls his eyes before focusing back on Billy. "You sent me a scarf the color of your eyes with a note attached that said 'think of me' on it. It wasn't exactly a hard code to crack." 

Billy laughs and wraps a hand in the scarf he'd gotten Steve, the one Steve hasn't taken off since he got it. "But you liked it, though," he says, voice quiet, almost like he's unsure, like he thought that maybe there was a chance Steve _wouldn't_ and suddenly, now that he knows for absolute certain that his secret admirer is Billy, that it has been Billy this whole time, it makes the way Billy was so agitated in the video store the day Steve had gotten the mix tape make so much more sense. It makes everything make so much more sense but it also makes Steve sad because - 

Because that means that Billy thinks that - 

Steve grips the back of Billy's neck a bit harder before sliding his hand up into Billy's hair. "Of course I liked it, it was from you. I'd like anything you gave me." 

This time it's one of Billy's eyebrows that's crawling up his forehead as he says, "Anything, huh?" tone tripping face first into full on sex god territory and staying there.

Steve groans. "You know I still don't wanna do that, right?" 

Billy laughs, but it's not mocking or cruel or upset, instead it's got that same fondness to it as that look he'd been wearing only minutes ago, a look that, if Steve thinks back, he knows he's seen Billy wearing for a while now. "I know," Billy says, "But I had to. The joke was _right there."_

Steve rolls his eyes again and says, "Yep. Stepped right into that one, didn't I?" as he drops his arms from around Billy and heads for the door. 

Once they're inside, Billy is on him the second he's got his coat off, pressing up against him and giving him this kiss that has Steve melting into him like he's an icicle making contact with fire. And that's… pretty much what it is, isn't it? 

Billy's been thawing him out, _is_ thawing him out with his fire-hot touch and his devouring kisses, his little presents and his thoughtfulness. Billy Hargrove, thoughtful boyfriend, who'd have ever guessed? 

But as they move into the living room, shedding bits and pieces of clothing as they go, Steve thinks that with a couple more years of this, more touches like this, maybe he could learn not to hate Christmas so much. 

Maybe. 


End file.
